


There's No Boss Like Hugo Boss

by blacklid



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-12
Updated: 2007-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:12:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacklid/pseuds/blacklid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing that looks better than Sam and Dean in tuxedos is Sam and Dean out of tuxedos. The Impala agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Boss Like Hugo Boss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fromyourashes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fromyourashes).



> **Category:** PWP. Flirting. Driving. Slash. Wincest. The End.  
>  **Timeline:** AU for 3.06, _Red Sky At Morning_  
>  **Characters:** Sam/Dean, Sam/Impala (cracky, huh?)  
>  **Prompt:** For a flisty who wanted boys in tuxes to porn each other.  
> 

Side by side in the hotel mirror, they adjusted their collars, buttoned cummerbunds, attached cufflinks. Dean pretended that Sam's bowtie was straight. To fix it meant touching it and touching it probably meant undoing it and eye rolling and hand slapping and probably necking. He took two steps away from the mirror.

"How do I look?" he said with a jaunty grin and one hand on his hip.

Sam glanced sideways at him, still fumbling with the tie, and looked him up and down slowly. "Like a penguin," he droned. "And you still have that bracelet on."

"It's my lucky ... would you come here." Dean grabbed him by both shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. Sam leaned forward as Dean jerked the knot loose and started a new loop. He kept leaning until Dean was bent backwards trying to make the last pass. Dean pulled it tight and almost fell over. Sam braced him with one arm and kissed him. One flick of the tongue over Dean's full lips and he stood them both up again.

"Don't Scarlett O'Hara me, damn it. I hate that." Dean adjusted his jacket, cracked his neck, and let the glint in his eyes tell Sam that his frown was one huge, freaking lie.

Sam just smiled and picked up the keys, smacking him soundly on the ass as he walked past.

"Let's go, Double-O."

The rumble of the Impala’s engine always did things to Sam. Especially if he was already excited. Once they had made it outside, Sam had tossed the keys over the hood and walked around to the passenger side and Dean had taken the wheel wordlessly. Sam was in a state that required legroom, lots and lots of legroom.

Dean glanced over once and caught him rubbing the tops of both thighs with long strokes. And rather than calming things down, it seemed to be having the opposite effect. Dean grinned into the oncoming headlights. “Problem, Sammy?”

“Fuck you, Dean.” Sam grimaced and tried to shift lower in the seat.

“Well, that’s an invitation if I ever heard one.” Dean reached over and pressed on the bulge, using his fingernails to trace the outline in Sam's pants and linger in a swirl over each section. He was going for the head, but it always seemed to take a while to find that. As he kept moving upward, Sam gasped and braced himself between the door panel and a splayed hand on the seat. Dean found what he was looking for and he could feel the hitch in Sam’s breath.

Sam twitched and started to grapple for the unfamiliar opening in his trousers. “No way,” he breathed, “Absolutely none, that I am getting through tonight without…”

“Come here,” Dean cupped the back of Sam’s neck and Sam slid over on the bench. Their thighs aligned and Sam kissed him vehemently, forcing his lips apart, finding toothpaste and whiskey and dark musk and sweetness. With one eye on the road, Dean plunged into Sam’s mouth, pushing Sam’s tongue aside and sweeping the backs of his teeth, prodding his mouth open even wider and licking at the pool of saliva under his tongue. Sam’s taste always reminded him of campfires and those little red hots candies and the color green.

Sam was moaning now and pressing and rubbing the palm of his hand inside his boxers, so Dean pulled away, nipping at Sam’s bottom lip, eyes were dark and desperate. “Mine,” he said, and Sam didn’t need any further direction.

Both of Dean’s hands returned to the job of steering. His fingers massaged the grooves in the wheel as Sam found and loosened each button and zipper. Nothing had touched him yet; even the crotch in the rentals was tenting high above his erection, but he could feel the wetness starting to soak his hip.

Sam smiled at the devilry of tugging at buttons, pants, cummerbund, shirtwaist, boxers, all without brushing against Dean once.

“God, Sammy. Please.” Dean dug his heels into the floorboard and lifted his hips. When Sam looked up, Dean’s pupils were blown dark and one hand was leaving the wheel to stroke Sam's hair. Dean's rough fingers traced their way down his jawbone and around to Sam’s parted lips. Sam snatched two fingers into his mouth and pressed his tongue onto the callused tips, sucking and licking. Dean pulled them out with a slick pop and reached up to push Sam’s head down in a silent plea.

Sam yanked at the perfect knot to relieve the choking around his throat and pondered Dean for a moment. His whole body was trembling. “I dunno. It looks too good to eat. I think I might have to save it for later.” Licking his lips, Sam blew over the heated flesh and Dean made that quiet sound that Sam loved.

The pressure of Dean’s hand on his head lifted immediately and Sam heard him stifle a moan. “Don’t you dare…” Dean managed. “Alright, okay, I’m sorry…”

As soon as Sam’s tongue flicked at the head of Dean’s cock, the Impala lurched forward. Sam propped himself up on his left shoulder and started to brace himself against the far door panel when Dean’s hand glided down his back and around, reaching for him. “Nuh Uh,” Sam muttered and shifted again so that most of his weight was on his knees on the floorboard.

The spot where the bench seat joined together had a small indent and there was a welt of corded leather that joined the top and the sides. It fit him perfectly and Sam couldn’t help but let out a shocked sigh.

Dean looked down expectantly.

“All the times in this car and now…” Sam explained huskily, “oh, fuck.” He was breathless when he found the right spot, wedged between the soft, leather cushions. He spit into his hand, fisted his cock and tugged his pants down further.

Dean was panting, trying to watch the road and Sam’s hand and Sam’s hips and Sam's cock sliding through his fingers. When Sam tried again, the front of the tux shirt got pinched in the top of the crevice and teased the head of his dick as he reached the top of each thrust. His moans gusted through the interior of the car and reverberated off the rear windshield.

“Hallelujah,” Dean whispered.

Then Sam leaned forward again, taking Dean in his mouth all at once. Dean shouted and the Impala lurched again, the speed pushing Sam further into the crevice.

Sam's hips jutted up awkwardly of their own volition once, twice, as he took hold of Dean with one hand and clutched frantically at the top of the seat with the other. The air was damp and getting thicker except for one spot of cool air where the vents blew on his ass, making his balls clench, and he thrust with more abandon into the seat. His tongue made quick darts along the bottom ridge of Dean’s cock and then glided, thick and wet, to the head.

Dean reached down, framing Sam’s face for a moment and held out his bracelet. Sam took it in his teeth and draped the first ring around Dean’s cock, using his hand he twisted it at the head to make a second loop and pushed that over the head with his lips. Dean’s thighs were quaking as he made the third loop and pushed the rings all the way to the base of Dean’s cock with nothing but his lips. Dean muttered a series of reverent obscenities as Sam paused there, Dean’s whole cock vibrating in his mouth.

Dean thrust up, gently but impatiently, and Sam started sucking while his tongue pressed from the base all the way to the tip. He heard Dean utter something completely incoherent and then let out a long moan. Sam moaned back and let it pulse through Dean's cock as he built up the rhythm.

Sam was savoring the strokes when he felt the Impala swerve and he lost the tight grip of the seat. As he reached for his own cock, Dean spilled into his mouth forcefully, coming on a silent whisper of Sam’s name, his hips undulating over and over again. Sam could feel each charge hit the back of his throat and he let Dean ride it out inside his mouth, petting his own shaft in soft, dry strokes. When Dean let out a pleased sigh, he released him and they forced their free arms around each other, Sam burying his face in Dean’s stomach and holding Dean’s cum in his mouth. Dean smelled like cologne and tires and sex.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean urged as Sam jerked himself hard and that was all it took. Sam swallowed as the waves took over, cum spurting up his chest and into his shirt and wafting down his throat.

Dean chuckled as Sam righted things as much as he could and regained his seat unsteadily. “Hate to break it to you, but it looks like I’m headed in there Han Solo style after all.”

“What?” Sam looked down at the disheveled suit, now sticking to his middle in discolored patches. “Aw, shit.” He pawed at it hopelessly.

“Hey,” Dean shrugged one shoulder as he pulled his remainders together, “We maybe keep our eyes peeled for a Chewbacca-size hombre in a penguin suit and kidnap him. He’d be okay in the trunk for a couple hours.”

Sam gaped at him. "That's so not funny."


End file.
